


The Case of the Missing Jumper

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Or a missing scene if you'd like it to be, a sort of sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: A sequel to or a missing scene from “One Last Adventure.” It takes place a week or so after the removal of Sherlock’s “mouth apparatus”.





	The Case of the Missing Jumper

**Author's Note:**

> This little sequel will make more sense if you have read “One Last Adventure.” I’d be pleased if you considered doing so.
> 
> Thank you to PatPrecieux for your amazingly insightful comment that pointed me in the right direction.

It was the absence of John’s soft snores and the warmth of his body wrapped around him that woke Sherlock. He reached out, patting the place where John should have been, but wasn’t, and for a moment his heart thudded in his chest until he remembered that John was in a safe place emotionally now. 

The sun hadn’t yet found its way between the curtain panels, so, early, then, too early for John to be pottering around; the silence was too deep. Tendrils of residual worry curled their way around his heart as he slipped from between the sheets, gently flexing his jaw as he shuffled barefoot from the bedroom in search of the absent half of himself.

Sherlock found him sitting in his chair, staring at something he held in his hand, and across his lap lay the jacket Sherlock had worn when he returned from the dead and reunited with John at the seafront in East Sussex.

John didn’t react when Sherlock knelt down in front of him; he only stared at the small piece of what had once been his oatmeal jumper. Sherlock rolled the ragged, knitted fragment smaller, pressed it back into John’s hand and folded his fingers around it.

Ignoring the jacket spread across John’s lap, Sherlock wriggled between John’s legs to be as close as possible. Lifting John’s head with a finger beneath his chin, he leaned in to nip at his mouth to bring him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. A dampness that could only be tears touched his lips, the salty flavor confirming his deduction.

John focused on him, making no attempt to hide his tears. Sherlock tenderly wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs and kissed him again.

“I was going to send this out to be cleaned, so I checked all the pockets,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.

“I found this in a secret pocket in the lining. You took my jumper?”

“Yes.”

John’s eyes begged for a why to it. 

“When I went away, I didn’t know that I loved you. I hadn’t yet discarded “caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” There was a terrible ache in the area of my heart, but I didn’t know, John. I was afraid that you would notice if I took a memento from the flat, but it was important that I have something that belonged to you even if I didn’t quite understand why. So I took your jumper. You hadn’t worn it for a while so I took a chance that you would think it misplaced. Did you?”

“I searched everywhere in the flat. Even in your room. It was nowhere. Just gone. Just gone, like you. Just gone.” John’s voice trailed off.

“You wanted to have it? I teased you about all your jumpers, but especially this one. I don’t understand why you would have wanted-”

“Needed.”

With a clot in his throat and a burning behind his own eyes, Sherlock’s gaze followed a single tear that trailed down John’s cheek.

“Oh.” 

“It was the jumper I wore when I..that first night..after we met.”

“Oh.”

“It was the one you truly hated, but it was the one that reminded me most of you.”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“But you took it with you.” 

“Yes.” 

“Sentiment.”

“Yes.”

“Your brother is an idiot.”

“Indeed. Caring is an advantage. It kept me alive so that I could find my way back to you.”

John reached out to him, circling his arms around his neck and resting his head against his shoulder. “I thought it was gone forever, I obsessed over it even though I had so many other things here to remind me of you, but you had nothing except the jumper. I even dreamed that you had it, hoping..”

“I wore it, John, when I was cold and alone and inside my Mind Palace, thinking of you. I used it as a pillow wherever I lay my head. After a few months it was dirty and unraveling, and..didn’t..smell like you anymore, but I couldn’t discard it. I needed it to remind me that I was separated from you to keep you alive and safe.”

John released him, opening his hand to look at the palm-sized remnant of his jumper. Sherlock fingered it, shaking his head.

“This piece is all that is left. I carried it in my jacket pocket, where you obviously found it.”

“Tell me, Sherlock, please, tell me something that wasn’t in the dossier that Mycroft compiled for me to read.”

Sherlock took John’s hands, so that they both held the remnant. Ignoring the tears that had begun to fall, Sherlock searched his Mind Palace for a memory that would resonate for John, a moment that would reassure John that he was on his mind constantly and always in his heart.

“As this fragment of your oatmeal jumper unraveled and grew smaller with each passing day, I protected it in every way I knew. Once, when it was rainy and cold, I taped it to my chest because I was terrified that I might lose it. I had so many images of you in my Mind Palace, but this was my only tangible connection to you. My touchstone.”

John’s eyes were red-rimmed and shining with unshed tears that he could see even in the low light. He was sure his own were, too. 

“I was running, and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before I was captured, so I tucked the remnant into a hidden pocket inside the jacket. When they stripped me of my clothes, I thought it was forever gone.”

John sniffed, leaning forward to press their lips together. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything more. It makes you too sad.”

“No, John, I want you to know, but could we go back to bed, my knees..bad position.”

“Of course. Back to bed.”

John helped him to his feet, leading the way, the remnant of oatmeal jumper safe between their clasped hands. Under the duvet, Sherlock held John against him, his fair head tucked beneath his chin. The jacket lay nearby, their touchstone lay on his chest, John keeping it safe beneath his hand, and Sherlock’s on top. 

“Somehow, Mycroft, the man who disdains legwork, rescued me. My only lucid thought was not to lose your jumper. Short story, I was belligerent, far past angry, forcing him to give in to my demand and search for the jacket. Once found, I retrieved it from the secret pocket, keeping it safely within my hand.”

“Sherlock, is this the same jacket? Did Mycroft have it cleaned?”

“Yes, he told me I smelled like the bin beneath our kitchen sink, but I refused to discard it or wear a new one, so he sent it out for an overnight cleaning.”

“The jumper smells fresh, like shampoo.”

“It is shampoo, John, it showered with me, never left my sight, spent the night wrapped in a towel against my chest, beneath my hospital gown until I checked myself out of hospital to find you.”

“It could have turned out so much worse. I dreamed as much this morning, couldn’t sleep after and I didn’t want to wake you. That’s why I was out in the sitting room.”

“No, John. We’re together in this. I want to know when you need me, at least until I learn how to know instinctively that you need me. That makes no sense, I’m sorry, John, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“As the saying goes, Sherlock, actions speak louder than words, and it’s fine, it’s all fine.” 

John lifted his head to kiss his cheek, but Sherlock turned just in time to bump noses and steal a proper kiss.

“Shall we continue our impromptu lie in, John?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

John yawned as he snuggled tighter against Sherlock’s side, his hand still clutching the jumper remnant. As he lay there, listening to the John’s soft breathing, not quite asleep, but drifting, Sherlock recalled that a simple glass display box Mummy had given to him during the early phase of his lepidopterological interests. It had never been used, just tucked into the bookcase behind his chair. He was certain it was still there. It was the perfect size to protect the last remnant of John’s oatmeal jumper. He smiled, pressing his cheek to John’s forehead and squeezing him just a bit.

A deep inhaled breath. So, not asleep, then. Thinking of something very important, Sherlock deduced. He waited..

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“On the train to Brighton, a woman stopped to say she was sorry for my loss, said she would never forgive herself if she didn’t tell me. A man stopped me from falling as I got off the train. And the cabby said he was sorry for my loss, too.”

“Hm, interesting. It seems you are well known in Brighton.” 

“Do you suppose it was coincidence that they were all there?”

Sherlock secretly smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, John. You know what we say about coincidence.”

“Yeah, the universe is rarely so lazy.” John sighed. “Wait, Sherlock, if that’s true then those people were..”

“Shut up, John,” Sherlock said, tucking the jumper remnant under his pillow for safe keeping. 

“Okay.”

Sherlock tumbled John over, pinning him to the mattress and claiming his mouth. John’s deep-throated groan was all he wanted to hear.


End file.
